Somewhere Other Then The Night
by chickenwriter
Summary: For some reason, my stories keep getting shorter... This is a surprise, for everyone. No one will expect this, not from me. Hint: It's not C/J


**Somewhere Other Than The Night**

The first time he said 'I love you' was on their wedding night. Clarisse knew he hadn't meant it, he was just caught up in the moment. She told him thank you, and let the words move over her like a wave upon the sea. The second time he said it was in a similar situation, as were the third and fourth. He always said it when they made love, but the night was the only place the words she longed to hear were heard. If she had her way, they _would_ be in love. Of course, after five years of marriage, she did love him as her best friend. He never seemed like he returned that love. Before a trip where either would be away for a few days, she would whisper her love in his ear, but his response would be a smug smile or a small kiss on the forehead. This lead her to believe she was being used.

The fact that her marriage was set up from birth had never bothered her. She grew up used to it. Throughout her life she had tried to escape that image of true love. However, every time she read a book, watched a movie or saw people on the street, the image haunted her.

On this, their sixth anniversary, a small gathering of friends and palace staff had been arranged. Most of that afternoon they had been away from each other, and although that bothered Clarisse immensely, it seemed to have no effect on her formidable husband. But the party was over, and the guests had gone. They left Rupert and his wife alone for the evening, most likely thinking they would spend it making passionate love. No such luck.

Clarisse could have gagged herself at the thought. That was the last thing she wanted to do. He was more of a friend then a lover. He was a friend she did not want to touch. She, to him, was mearly a good strategy, just a pawn in the chess game of life (if you'll excuse the cliche). He was the man who ruled her life; the man who bought her clothes, provided for her needs (or appointed someone to do so), and told her where she would spend her time. He, however, was never harsh when he did this. If anything, he was the nicest dictator in the world. He listened to her thoughts and took them into careful consideration. If she was sick, she was sick. If she didn't want to go somewhere, she didn't have to. But she always felt she was letting him down in all areas. Tonight was the night she was supposed to get pregnant, and produce an heir, but that was the last thing she wanted. As they settled in for the night, Clarisse entered the sitting room with a frown on her face.

"Clarisse? What is ailing you?" Rupert asked from his spot on the couch.

"I...need to talk to you. "

"What is it?"

"I love you, Rupert. I really do."

"Thank you, darling."

"No. You don't understand, I don't love you as a romantic partner, I love you as my friend, my best friend."

"All right . . . " He looked warily at his wife. She sat down softly next to him, and placed her hand on his.

"Do you love me?" A silence fell over the room and tears sprang to her eyes.

"I have told you that I loved you many times." He defended himself, taking her hand in his.

"Yes, you have."

"See . . . "

"Whenever we are intimate." She trampled angrily over his words.

"It still counts, wherever we are."

"I need to hear it now. When we aren't being intimate. Why don't you say it now?" She challenged him, yanked her hand away and stood.

"Clarisse . . . " He started. "You're being irrational."

"Am I? Why is that? Can you not say 'I love you' to me until after I've pleasured you?"

"No." The king seemed a bit taken aback at her harsh words. He'd never heard her speak like that. "I just don't want you to prompt me, and force me to tell you how I feel."

"Oh! Isn't that what I already have to do?" She threw her arms up in despair and crossed the room with frustrated footsteps.

"No, I have always told you willingly."

"Really?" Clarisse moved to sit next to him. "Have you?"

"I love you, Clarisse, as a friend. My best friend."

"Thank you." She closed her eyes and absorbed those words. "Do you think that was difficult?"

"No."

"Then why is it the first time I've heard it out of the bedroom?"

"Now that isn't entirely true . . . " He started.

"Not the point." She said tersely. "Not the point."

"I'm sorry, Clarisse. I do love you, I swear." She smiled and leaned down. With a smirk he kissed her lightly.

"Happy anniversary."

"Same to you, my darling." She smiled softly.

"Perhaps tonight _would_ be a good night for me to conceive."

"Perhaps it would." He kissed her on the lips, enclosing her in his arms.


End file.
